Gospel of Mark

The ending, or the resolution, is perhaps one of the most crucial points of any story.  A story could be beautiful and well written, but if the ending is unsatisfying, the reader will put down the book with an empty feeling.  In Psychology 1000, my class learned about the recency effect.  People have a tendency to remember more clearly the last thing they read or hear.  Perhaps, this is why the translators and scholars tacked on twelve extra verses to the end of the Gospel of Mark.  Had Mark ended with verse eight, Bible readers probably would have been left with an unsettling feeling.

“And they went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them, and they said nothing” (Mark 16:8).

“And they said nothing.”  How about that?  Throughout the entire Gospel of Mark, Jesus heals and helps multiple people.  He drives out demons, cures lepers, feeds thousands, and even brings the dead back to life.  On most occasions, he specifically instructs the people and/or demons not to tell anyone about what they had seen. 

“But he gave them strict orders not to tell who he was” (Mark 3:12).

“He gave strict orders not to let anyone know about this, and told them to get give her something to eat” (Mark 5:43).

“Jesus commanded them not to tell anyone.  But the more he did so, the more they kept talking about it” (Mark 7:36).

After all of these commandments of silence, what do the people do?  They tell everyone, which is miraculous in and of itself.  Twitter wasn’t invented, yet.  Ending the gospel with the women at the tomb not telling anyone about what they had seen is strange.  It’s one of the few times that Jesus actually orders the spreading of the news of his miracles, and the job is not fulfilled.  Jesus rising from the dead is arguably the one of the most awe-inspiring acts he performed within the Gospel of Mark, and, if the gospel really does end at Mark 16:8, no one made a peep about the marvelous resurrection.

However, in most bibles today, Mark 16:9-20 describes Jesus’ multiple appearances post-resurrection.  He first appears to Mary Magdalene, who immediately tells the people mourning Jesus’ death that JK, he’s really not dead.  No one believes her, though.  He appears again, and as before, when the women try to spread the word, they’re shot down on account of how ridiculous their story sounds.  Then Jesus finally decides to take matters into his own hands, and he appears to the Eleven directly.  He instructs them to tell basically everyone in the entire world the good news of his resurrection.

With the additional twelve verses, the Gospel of Mark ends with a satisfying bang:

“Then the disciples went out and preached everywhere, and the Lord worked with them and confirmed his word by the signs that accompanied it” (Mark 16:20).

Saying nothing out of fear or telling everyone the good news out of joy?  It’s not too difficult to understand why so many people choose to accept the second, happier ending.  It’s more fulfilling.  It meets expectations.  After reading a gospel full of people constantly spreading the word of Jesus' miracles, despite his plea for them to remain silent, and then reading what I discovered was the actual ending in which Jesus' miracle is kept silent, I couldn't help but think, "Really?  After all of that, that's how it ends?"  Over the years, I was trained to accept the "new and improved" resolution of Mark, mostly because I wasn't told to believe anything different.  That is the danger of changing something so universally well-known and impactful. A large number of people have read or will read from a bible at some point, and they will most likely come into contact with the Gospel of Mark as well.  Like me, they probably won't realize that 16:9-20 were added later to fit the beliefs of the demanding crowd.  As an end result, scripture of questionable origin becomes fact.

Having the power to rewrite the endings to book and stories would be amazing.  That character wouldn’t die.  That character would die.  Plot twist: the guy doesn't get the girl.  It sounds fun.  However, changing the ending to a gospel of the Bible is more than just changing the ending to a simple story.  The Gospel of Mark is the oldest and one of the most popular of the gospels.  Without the added ending, there is really no sign of glorious divinity surrounding Jesus.  With the added ending, the story of Jesus' resurrection becomes light and joyful because the earth is going to hear the about the miracle of Jesus' return from the dead.  The contrast between the two endings is obvious.  There is no in-between ground.  There's either tell no one or tell everyone.

Since the scripture in the Bible is so old, and it's been translated multiple times, I can understand how there might be some discrepancy as to the original meaning of the text.  However, the change to the Gospel of Mark surpasses questionable discrepancy, and moves straight into the realm of purposeful alteration.  Mark 16:9-20 completely alters the meaning of the end of the Gospel of Mark.

You Only Live Once

dum loquimur, fugerit invida aetas: carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.

- Horace, Ode I.11  Tu ne quaesieris 

I'm not an expert in Latin, but I did buy an old Latin dictionary for fifty cents at a thrift store, so that has to count for something.  The two words that stand out to me are, of course, carpe diem.  In English, it translates to "seize the day."  It's a fairly common phrase, even in the modern era, meaning to take advantage of the moment.  However, a new term with basically the same meaning has spread through the ranks of teenagers like the plague.  Yes, I mean "YOLO," short for "you only live once."  YOLO is the essentially the carpe diem of today's world.

Due to the finicky nature of Latin, the last two lines from Horace's ode have multiple different translations, and, therefore, the meaning varies slightly with each modification.  The English version we discussed during class, translated these lines as follows:

"Even as we speak, envious time flies past.  Harvest the day and leave as little as possible for tomorrow."

In most of the translations, with a few exceptions, time is envious.  Why?  For a while, I couldn't wrap my head around the concept, but then I looked at the context of the line in the ode.  Time is being personified.  Time is envious because, for once, no one is paying attention to it.  Usually, everyone is so worried about having enough time that they waste all of their precious time concerned with how they are going to spend said time.  It's one big conundrum, and time probably loves watching people flounder about trying to escape from its greedy, little hands.  Time may also suffer from a touch of envy because it has no choice but to continue moving forward.  Time can't stop for anything.  Humans are able to defy time, albeit briefly, and relish in an event, a moment.

"Harvest the day" is basically another way to say "seize the day.  In David Ferry's translation, he uses the phrase, "Hold on to the day."  One of my favorite translations of this passage is Aphra Behn's, who ends the ode with "Let us enjoy to-day, we'll die to-morrow."

There are a multitude of other translations, but they all mean the same thing.  Live in the moment.  Have no regrets.  Take advantage of what time you have.  [Insert every other inspirational quote about living life to its full potential here.]

All of these inspiring tidbits of advice about living for the moment are fine and dandy, but let's not forget that Horace is speaking to a woman, Leuconoe, in his ode.  In a nutshell, Horace is telling this woman, "Life is short, so have sex with me."  Horace was quite the charmer.  He probably got all the ladies using that kind of logic.

Similarly, William Shakespeare wrote a poem titled "Carpe Diem," in which he also speaks to a woman.

This poem is aptly named.  It is extremely similar to Horace's Ode I.11.  Shakespeare is telling his true love that time is precious, so they should make the most of it while they can.  The last three lines, "In delay there lies no plenty,--/ Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,/ Youth's a stuff will not endure," is a longer version of "seize the day." Youth is only temporary.  Eventually, everyone grows old.  That doesn't necessarily mean that love has to end, but love is usually associated with youth and vice versa.  Shakespeare, in so many words, is using time as leverage to earn a kiss.  Put Horace and William Shakespeare in a bar, and they could get any woman they wanted with their smooth words and undeniable logic.

I find it amazing that just a few lines in Latin can sprout so many different translations.  All of the versions are special in their own way.  The translations are sort of like snowflakes, unique and beautiful.  Ignore the fact that Horace is trying to persuade someone to have sex with him, and the ode actually gives viable advice that is relevant to life.  Don't take time for granted, and live each moment like it's you're last.  After all, you only live once.  

Victory and the Lake

            I wish I had known about the Museum of Art and Archaeology sooner than just a few days before its long hiatus.  The museum itself is so small and cozy.  It’s almost like stepping into someone’s home instead of a building that houses valuable works of art.  Plus, it’s on the campus of Mizzou, which makes it convenient!  I would be more than happy to spend a few afternoons strolling from work of art to work of art, taking everything in bit by bit.  Sadly, that can dream can no longer be because the museum closed on September 30th.*sad face*

            The cast gallery was my favorite room in the museum.  All of the casts were impressive, but the one that stood out among the rest was Nike of Samothrace.  Impressive doesn’t even begin to cover this cast.  When I read about the sculpture in my art history book, I completely underestimated its size.  It towers over viewers.  I felt small and meek in comparison to its awesome size.  The care with which Nike was carved must have been immense.  It’s a shame that the creator of Nike is unknown.  Someone should be able to have credit for the creation of the sculpture.  I can’t even imagine sitting down in front of a chunk of marble and chiseling away to create such a beautiful masterpiece.  Sure, it’s missing both arms and its head, but I think there is so much more beauty in its imperfection.  I tried my best to capture the presence of Nike of Samothrace on paper, but the cast is something that needs to be seen in person.

            After spending some time in the cast gallery, I made my way through the rest of the museum.  I loved looking at all of the paintings.  As an amateur artist, seeing the intricate, detailed paintings was like a second Christmas.  I felt inspired just by being in the presence of such amazing works of art.  One of my favorite paintings was Lake of the Avernus painted by Samuel Lancaster Gerry in 1851.  Landscapes are one of the main focuses in my own artwork, and looking at other depictions of landscapes is a great way to gain new ideas.  Lake of the Avernus looked like a little piece of heaven, which would make sense since Lake Avernus is supposedly the entrance to the underworld.  If I could paint half as well as Gerry, that would still be an accomplishment.

            I’m so glad I was able to have the opportunity to tour the Museum of Art and Archaeology before it closed.  When it comes back to campus, I will definitely return to enjoy the art once again.

Go Girl Power!

I had a mixture of reactions after reading Aristophanes' Lysistrata.  The first one was...

The second reaction was..

It was the first time I've ever read a Greek comedy, so I had no idea what to expect.  I have to say I was pleasantly and hilariously surprised.

   Normally, I never associated the ancient Greeks with humor.  Humor, especially the kind seen in Lysistrata, is meant for modern-day teenagers with immature minds, right?  The Greeks were too uptight and pristine to have time to sit around and laugh at crude, sexual jokes.  Aristophanes' play, Lysistrata, begs to differ.  Lysistrata is one giant sexual innuendo.  However, as a reader I had to make myself look past all of phallic jokes and dirty puns to uncover the serious story regarding the women of Greece.

    Many scenes throughout the comedy have somewhat sober undertones that can be easily overlooked due to the distraction of the multitude of jokes, but my main focus is the scene in which Lysistrata and the Councilor discuss the women’s motives behind their actions in lines 506 through 613.  The conversation might seem ridiculous and a jab at cross-dressing, but it represents the struggles of the women of the time.  Women are supposed to be passive creatures that don’t speak out or participate in important matters.  They are supposed to sit back and let the men handle the affairs of the city.  Lysistrata says, “Throughout this futile war, we women held our peace./ Propriety (and husbands) permitted no peep/ To escape our mouths” (lines 506-509).  The women are finally fed up with being put down, and the men are at a complete loss for a way to deal with their newfound predicament.  Go girl power!

   The women go as far as to instruct the men to be the submissive ones for a change.  Then maybe stuff would get done.  In the midst of calling the Councilor a “loser,” Lysistrata also accuses him of using ineptitude as a “shield against advice” (line 522).  Maybe bluntly rebuking the Councilor wasn't the smartest idea, but it was pretty funny to read.  Of course he finds Lysistrata’s proposition of gender role reversals to be an “insufferably presumptuous notion!”  For this comment, the Councilor is mobbed and dressed as a housewife.  The dressing of the Councilor is as important as it is ridiculous.  Even in modern times, the way people dress affects how they are judged.  Slowly, society is pulling away from this way of thinking, but, in Athens, dress code marked where one stood in society.  The veil, a common article of clothing worn by the women, symbolizes the derogatory way women were judged by the people of Greece.  The veil does not make the Councilor a woman.  That would be improbable! But by draping the veil on the Councilor, Lysistrata and the other women were bringing him down to their level, so perhaps he would feel the same oppression that the women felt.

   Jump ahead to Lysistrata’s comparison of the women’s grand plan with wool, and the conversation takes an even more serious turn despite the witty banter.  The Councilor finds Lysistrata’s solution regarding wool and getting rid of "all the layabouts and briars" preposterous (line 35).  But what does he know?  He’s a man.  He probably didn’t understand half of what she said regarding wool because he never actually had to deal with spinning wool firsthand.  After the Councilor ix-nays Lysistrata’s plan, she gets even more testy and points out that the women have suffered just as much, if not more than the men, when it comes to war because the women have to give up their husbands and sons to the fighting.  It’s also becoming more and more difficult for women to find a husband because most of the men are dying in battle.  Once again, the Councilor doesn’t understand the women’s struggles because he is a man.  When men grow old they can still find a young bride, no matter how creepy the marriage might be.  Women who are past their prime are forced to sit around and waste away.

   At this point, the women play dress up with the Councilor again, but this time they dress him as a corpse- not quite as fun as a housewife.  The fact that they are able to stand still long enough for the women to dress him up is a feat within itself.  Too bad it’s not Halloween.  The Councilor as a corpse could represent a wide variety of things, from the death wish spat by Lysistrata to the fact that every man will one day die.  The women must basically prepare every man for a funeral when they are preparing them for war.  The Councilor is not going to war; he just serves as a good substitute because he’s there and being a jerk.  Honestly, he was asking for it.

   This scene may have not been the funniest compared to the the rest of the comedy, but it was still full of hilarity.  All jokes aside, Lysistrata definitely warrants a second glance into the somber nature of the otherwise outlandish play.  The effect of war on women is a topic that is often overlooked in works from ancient Greece, and if it's touched upon like in Trojan Women, the suffering is overwhelming.  The women in Lysistrata are able to describe their hardships and woes without beating their breasts and falling to the ground.  The play is able to portray a comedy that would have had the Greeks bent over double from laughter while sneaking a hidden message between the lines without beating it over the reader's head.  Props to Aristophanes. 
   I thoroughly enjoyed reading Aristophanes' work, especially once I was able to appreciate both the humor and undertones.  I had no idea that the Greeks could be so funny!

   

Reading Between the Lines

Below I have undertaken the task of explicating two specific lines from Homer's The Iliad.  Robert Fagles' translation of the epic poem is the version I will be referring to, unless stated otherwise. Despite the fact that basically the entire epic involves war, I chose a rather discreet passage that occurs off the battlefield.

A brief explanation of events surrounding the passage is necessary before I can begin my explication.  Achilles has just killed Hector.  Priam, Hector’s father, comes to Achilles under the cover of night to plead for his son’s body to be returned since Achilles has refused to release the body to the Trojans.  The reason for Achilles' disrespect of Hector's body is rooted in Hector's role in the murder of Patroclus, Achilles closest friend and possible lover (the latter is a topic meant for a different time). It is during their secret discussion that Achilles and Priam end up having a joint pity party.  In Achilles' long speech to Priam (the Greeks were quite fond of words), two lines stand out among the rest: 

“So the immortals spun our lives that we, we wretched men 

live on to bear such torments—the gods live free of sorrows."

-The Iliad, Book 24: Achilles and Priam, page 605, lines 613- 614

First, note Achilles' use of the term "immortals" in the first line.  In another translation of The Iliad by Richmond Lattimore, "gods" is used in place of "immortals."  The two words mean basically the same thing, but Fagles' translation leaves room for a broader interpretation of who is manipulating the lives of mortals.  For example, in Greek mythology there are three sisters called the Fates who have been known to literally spin, well, fate.  The Fates are classified as immortals.  The use of "gods" by Lattimore limits the reader's imagination to the feisty beings associated with Mount Olympus.  I'm not saying that the gods aren't part of the events in mortal lives.  However, the gods are not the main source of manipulation, even though they interfere on many occasions.  When it comes to meddling, the gods just can't help themselves.  Usually, they intervene only when the situation would be beneficial to them or if their interaction is detrimental to one of their rivals.

Moving from the immortals to the mortals, why does Achilles use repetition of the word "we" in the first line?  Did Achilles have a stutter?  No.  Therefore, the repetition is probably something that warrants a second glance.  Repetition is usually used when someone wants to emphasize a point.  Homer uses repetition extensively throughout The Iliad when he is highlighting the importance of a certain theme or event.  The back to back use of a word imprints the word in the listener, or reader's, mind and forces them to pay attention to what follows, which in this case is "wretched men." 

Who is Achilles referring to when he says, "we, we wretched men?" He could mean himself and Priam exclusively, or he could be referring to all men under the gods' surveillance.  I would classify both Achilles and Priam as "wretched men," no offense to either of the characters.  According to the Oxford dictionary, wretched is an adjective used to describe a person "in a very unhappy or unfortunate state."  I can count the number of times Achilles or Priam are genuinely happy on one hand during The Iliad.  They are miserable people.  My theory is supported by Homer's repetition of the terrible fate awaiting both characters in the near future.  Achilles is doomed to live a short life full of strife; Priam is doomed to live a long life equally full of strife.  Both character's lives will come to an end soon after the two reconcile in Achilles' tent. It's a wonder that both of them are able to get out of bed in the morning, let alone fight a war with their imminent demise hanging over their heads.  Albeit, Achilles can be classified as mentally unstable on many occasions.  For example, he threatens to eat Hector's flesh shortly before killing him.  Even in ancient Greece, cannibalism was a big no-no.

Achilles says that he and Priam must "bear such torments."  Because The Iliad is about a war, the word "bear" calls to my mind the phrase "to bear arms."  Maybe it's a coincidence of translation since Lattimore uses the phrase "live in unhappiness"in his version.  I would like to believe that there is a connection between torments and weapons (arms).  They must bear their torments through life the same way they would bear arms in battle, though arms are meant to protect and torments to deter.  

The "torments" that Achilles and Priam face are different respectively.  Priam has lived to be an old man blessed with many sons.  However, this same blessing turns into a curse because many of Priam's sons die at the hands of Achilles.  Likewise, Priam will die at the hands of the Achaeans.  Achilles, on the other hand, is relatively young, but he knows his death is approaching quickly.  His life is so tragic because he has to chose between glory after death or comfort before death.  There is no other option, no gray area to turn to.  Achilles is tormented by the decision he must make, but, by the time Achilles' is speaking with Priam, his mind has already been made up.  He will stay in Troy and continue to fight, even if it will literally be the death of him.  

Rather bitterly in my opinion, Achilles continues by accusing the gods of living "free of sorrows."  I don't necessarily agree with this statement.  While the gods may live free of mortal anguish, they are still capable of suffering.  In fact, the gods' suffering is amplified by their immortality.  They must live for eternity bearing the weight of anything that causes them anguish.  They have mortal children who will die, whether it be from old age or battle wounds.  They feel the sting of the loss just like any other parent.  Zeus is reluctant to let his son, Sarpedon, die during the Trojan war.  Also, at one point in the epic, Aphrodite is wounded by Diomedes and becomes so bent out of shape that she turns to Dione and has a mental breakdown.  In some Greek myths, Hephaestus, an Olympian god, was essentially thrown off Mount Olympus due to a physical deformity, which I'm sure was great for his psyche.  No, the gods are not able to escape sorrow.  Sorrow comes for everyone, gods and mortals alike.  

Perhaps the lines I have chosen are not the most well-known of The Iliad, but Achilles' words sum up the tension in the relationship between the gods and the mortals perfectly.  The gods control the lives of mortals, and usually the result of such manipulation leads to disaster for man.  But heaven, I mean Olympus, forbid that anyone tries to escape the fate laid out by the gods.  Therefore, the bitterness felt toward the gods is understandable.  Maybe if the gods and the mortals had invested in relationship counseling instead of petty revenge, the entire Trojan war could have been avoided.


Sources:
-The Iliad. Penguin Classics Deluxe E. New York: Penguin Books, 1990. Print.
-Lattimore, Richmond. The Iliad of Homer. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1961. Print.

Images:
Thor Anuual #8, page 43, panel 1